falls?”
“I don’t know,” Attrebus said. “But I think he’ll be back. You stay here in case it’s sooner rather than later.”
“I think he’s right,” Letine said after they were gone. “I think Hierem will be here when Umbriel reaches the city.”
“Why?”
“Just a feeling in my gut,” she replied. “The prince is determined-let him do whatever it is he wants to do- we’ll wait here for Hierem.”
“The prince is delusional,” Colin whispered.
“You can’t make him go.”
“Sure I can. His father will thank me.”
He heard them returning. Sul was carrying something wrapped up in cloth. It was the size and shape of a sword.
Sul and Attrebus moved to the sigil. Nothing happened when they stepped on it.
“Can you open it, Sul?” Attrebus asked.
The dark elf shook his head. “It’s not an Oblivion gate or trace. It’s beyond me.”
“We’ll wait, then.”
“Highness,” Colin said, hoping one more try would do the trick, “my charge is to get you to safety, not watch you jump into the midst of the enemy.”
“I know what you probably think of me,” Attrebus said. “To be honest, right now most of me just wants to go back to my villa and lay down on my bed, if only to die there. But I can’t. I’ll never be the man the books talk about. But I started something, and I’m going to finish it. I won’t argue about this anymore, and as your prince I forbid you to bring it up again.”
Colin drew a deep breath and nodded. “As you say, my prince.”
Attrebus and Sul took positions on the sigil. The inspector-Vineben, the prince recalled-and the woman, Letine, stood behind it. Sul unwrapped Umbra and replaced his usual weapon with it.
“What’s the plan?” Attrebus asked.
Sul’s gaze seemed even more intense than usual as he turned it on Attrebus.
“If we’re lucky, Hierem is meeting with Vuhon, and we’ll appear right in front of him. If that happens, I’ll stab him. If we’re right about all of this, the sword should reclaim Vile’s energies. That should allow me to kill Vuhon.”
“And then what?”
Sul cocked his head, as if studying some strange creature speaking an even stranger language.
“Then he’ll be dead.” He said it quietly, like a note plucked softly on the tightest wire in the world.
“But what about Umbriel? Without Vile’s power to run the ingenium, will it just fall out of the sky, or-”
“Vile said he would take it from there,” Sul said shortly. “Remember?”
“Right, but-” Then he understood. “You don’t care about anything but killing Vuhon.”
“When did I ever say otherwise?” Sul snapped.
“Well-never. But I just thought-”
“Don’t try to think for me,” Sul said. “And don’t act surprised. I kill Vuhon-anything else is up to you. You know what’s going to happen when I draw Umbra-you remember Elhul. Best get away from me when that happens, find that girl or do whatever strikes your fancy.”
“Then why do you want me along at all?”
“Because if Vuhon isn’t there when we appear, we’ll have to find him-and you’re the one with the magic bird and the friends in high places. So I might still need you. And speaking of birds…”
“Right,” Attrebus said, reaching into his bag.
SIX
He swam in black water, probing through the rotting leaves, lifting his eyes now and then above the surface to search the shallows and shore for movement. Larger things in the depths of the swamp couldn’t reach him here, amidst the twisting cypress roots; here the danger usually came from land.
Something in the mud moved, and he snapped at it with webbed paws and lifted a feathery-gilled wriggler into view. He ate it happily and searched for more, but in a short time his belly was full and he felt like basking. He swam lazily back to the gathering hole.
The old ones had already claimed the choicest perches, so he crawled onto a log already crowded with his siblings and wriggled down among them until he felt the rough bark against his belly. When his brothers and sisters gave up their sleepy, halfhearted complaints at his added company, he felt the sun on his skin and began to dream his life; swimming, basking, killing, avoiding death, the sun and moons, all mystery, all terrifying, all beautiful. Each day the same day, each year the same year.
Until the root came, and the taste of sap. Some changes were slow, others came quickly, and he-they-flowed together, found the stream of time. His old body wasn’t forgotten, but it changed, became more like things the root remembered from otherwhere; his hind legs lengthened and his spine stood up. Small thoughts in his head put out branches, and those branched also, until what had before been warmth, light, shadow, movement, fear, contentment, anger, and lust became categories instead of simple facts. The world was the same, but it seemed more, bigger, stranger than ever.
Death followed life and life death, but it all flowed through the root, each life different, each the same.
Until that, too, ended, and the root was ripped away, and he was alone. The gathering place was empty except for him-no elders, no siblings. He swam in black water, forgetting everything. Losing his form, melting away.
But in that dissolution, the illusion was also dissolved. He was many, and he was one. He sang, a plaintive tune, a remembrance, a prayer. All of his voices took it up, trembling it out through every branch and root, through heart and blood and bone.
I want to go home, he sang. I want to go home.
Glim woke gasping, spitting water from his mouth, remembering the ache closing in on his chest. He smelled his own terror, and remembered more-his heart stopping, the cold, nothingness.
And Fhena. Then he understood that he wasn’t just thinking of her-she was looking down at him anxiously.
“What?” he managed.
“You’re talking!” she said.
“Where am I?”
“You’re safe,” Fhena said. “Just know you’re safe.”
“I don’t understand,” he grunted. His skin felt tight, itchy, and he was shivering. His mind was full of shifting images and half thoughts, as if he were back home, touching the root of the City Tree but stronger, stranger, freer.
“What happened to me?” he said. “I’m not the same. The trees-”
“You hear them now,” she said. “Like I do.” She touched him, and her face changed to an expression of purest wonder. “No,” she said, “not like me. Better-more-it’s like you’re one of them, Glim.”
“I’m not,” he said. “I’m me. I’m me.”
He fought back the thoughts invading his head.
“What happened?” he demanded. “I thought I died. I was sure I died.” He felt at his side, then his face. “Where are my wounds?” There weren’t even any scars.
“She did it to save you,” Fhena told him. “To keep you safe.”
“Did what?” Glim asked, starting to feel hysterical.
“I killed you,” another familiar voice said. “I killed you.”
The face was Annaig’s, but the words made no sense juxtaposed with it.
“She did it to save you,” Fhena murmured, laying her hand on his shoulder.
